Last weekend was wonderful. We came back to grand rapids and stayed with our good friends and gratious hosts, Nick and Brooke, who saw that we had a comfortable stay in their beautiful eastown apartment. We went to mulligans, saw friends, and drank like I haven't since I moved. And while I feel homesick for grand rapids and the quality of life it delivers, I'm determined to make it work here despite our insuing depression.
This past weekend was good too, I reconnected with becky and andrew and learned how to play ping-pong to a respectable degree. Saturday morning I woke up and purchased two tickets to see Ryan Adams at the house of blues. And while it isn't typical of me to spend money I don't exactly have, I rationalized the purchase the night before with the incoherent slurs of 'Ryan Adams is on the top of my list of acts to see that I haven't yet, you know, of the ones I can still see, you know that aren't dead yet.' Regardless, I have my tickets (which sold out the minute after I made the purchase) and can't wait until January 18 to see him. I hate it when tickets go on sale months before the show, or maybe january just seems far away.
I'm not working again today, but my staffing agency says I'm in their 'top 3 employees,' whatever that means, and I'm waiting to hear back on a temp job at northwestern in which they have me applied. I'm tired of not working. I'm making good use of my time, applying to jobs on days I'm not working, but I still haven't received anything in return.
Last night I had another lame dream (I have blogged at length on the prevalence of lame dreams in my psyche). I dreamt I was on a swedish geological expedition and on my way back to north africa everyone on the plane had to be searched by soviet authorities. Nervousness and tension abounds.
I understand this is entirely implausible.
And I don't even like that type of movie.
kevdek
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
I dreamt last night that I went running with George Clooney. It was brutally hot.
You guys will be shocked to know that I have officially quit smoking. Day three. Everyone around me is still alive. I'm not even that bitchy (though I got me the patch!). The real test?
The Sandbar.
last night i dreampt that every time i hit "print," shit from someone else's garage sale would come out of the printer. interesting items:
-twisty ties (like you get on bread)
-old worn out training bras
the lady who owned all the stuff came over and saw all of it and yelled. i don't have a working printer, so who knows.
Post a Comment